Kuchiki Byakuya Has The Urge to Merge
by Kilonji
Summary: He's even chosen a bride. WARNING: spoilerific crack within.
1. A Modest Proposal

**A/N:** I originally intended this for _Brighter Than Sunshine_. Within a paragraph of starting, I knew it wasn't going to be that easy. As you might guess, these two demanding personas were not willing to settle for anything less than their own stage, so I have accomodated them with a story of their own. Take any of your complaints to them, as I have clearly lost control of my own creation.

* * *

Once he made his choice he carefully reconsidered it, going over every detail that had led him to the current conclusion in his mind. He had made mistakes in his lifetime, and he was not interested in doing so again. He went over every option in minute detail.

He was once again beholden to his family to take a bride. In the years since he had found and retrieved Rukia, he had been able to deflect such demands with little more than his cold indifference. He was not dying. There was no need to worry about the future of the Kuchiki name, not just yet. But then Rukia left the manor—she had never called it home, no matter how often he asked her to or how soft he attempted to make his voice when he did so—and he was alone again, just him and the clan elders, and they would no longer be put off.

There were many "suitable" candidates. Of course there would be, when the clan's only requirement was that she be either noble to begin with or capable of being taught the fine art of gentle disdain. So the hints were dropped here and there with the hopes that he would be a good little bird and follow the trail to matrimony.

They would soon learn he had different ideas.

Out of the blue, after a particularly tedious captains' meeting, she was headed toward the door with her buffoon of a vice captain in tow when the nobleman blocked the exit. When she glared up at him, about to insist he remove himself from her path or suffer the consequences, he looked down at her with a face that was more impassive than she had ever seen it. His cold gray eyes narrowed, not scowl, but a clear attempt soften his expression. Failing at that, he bowed, slightly. "Taichou," he said, his voice flat and businesslike, "I wish to declare my intent to make you my wife."

She didn't faint (she was shocked, but she was never given to such unsightly actions) but her vice-captain did.

"Are there not," she scoffed, "more appropriate persons for such a position?"

"There are," he said, "but you are most suitable."

"I am," she said.

"You are," he confirmed.

She shoved past him. "Yes," she shot back from a distance. "And my fukutaichou is a delicate, graceful ballerina."

Ohmaeda was still on the floor, dead to the world. Cookie crumbs seeped from his hakama.

Staring after her, Kuchiki taichou reminded himself that even Hisana took some working on, when it first started.


	2. Attempt One: Stalking

**A/N:** Happy New Year! My writer's block says hi.

* * *

The next day, just around noon, Lord Kuchiki Byakuya arrived unannounced at the second division compound. 

Soifon responded to this invasion by arming herself to the teeth and barricading herself in her office. She did not see the point in wasting the energy of her subordinates to exorcise this unwelcome demon; but she did not feel any inclination to look the smug bastard in the face, either. So she merely listened as he prowled politely but pointedly outside her door, asking from time to time if she was willing to sit down with him for tea. The fact that she only responded to three out of seven inquires, all in the negative, did not deter him in the least. In fact, it was only some lackey reporting from some unknown division that deflected Byakuya's attention from her door. Soifon breathed a sigh of relief and opened her door as soon as his heavy reiatsu dissipated.

Throughout her ordeal, Omaeda was nowhere to be found. Oh well. He had always been useless, anyway. And besides, was it necessary for such a dunderhead to stand in for her? She decided that the next time she was confronted with the cold visage of Kuchiki Byakuya, she would make it known, in no uncertain terms, that she was not interested in his offer. _That should be plenty to stop this nonsense_, she though to herself. It wasn't until her third seat confessed to alerting Captains Ukitake and Kyouraku to the situation that it dawned on her that she truly _did_ have a problem.

* * *

"You know, just between us, I believe you made an excellent choice in future mate," Kyouraku said behind his hand. "Ninjas are bendy."

Ukitake was not inclined to feign disinterest or ignorance. "Shunsui."

Kyouraku coughed. "But in any case, Kuchiki-taichou, we must strongly advise you to rethink your decision."

Ukitake opened his mouth—obviously to concur—but Byakuya had already lost patience. "I cannot do that."

"I understand that you are determined. However, she has refused you." Ukitake was unlike his dark counterpart in his careful examination of the facts before he came to a conclusion. "Please do not tell me you intend to create a potentially volatile situation here simply to satisfy your wounded pride."

Byakuya raised a well-sculpted eyebrow. Of _course_ he intended to create a situation! "If there _is_ a situation," he sniffed, "it would be of Soifon-taichou's creation."

Of course it would. Like Hisana's before her, Byakuya assumed, Soifon's objection would be quite strenuous.

* * *

The morning second day, he was waylaid on the way to the second division compound by a phalanx of men in black who rained down on him from the clear blue sky. He merely cut them to ribbons with Senbonzakura and continued on his stoic way. But by the time he reached Soifon's office she had vanished without a trace. He waited until dusk and then returned bootless to his own office. There was paperwork to do, after all. He resolved to make sure any welcome committee he met on the way to meet his desired bride the next day would not survive to alert her of his coming. He had obviously missed a spot last time. 

As it happened, it was not necessary to defend himself on the third day. Just a few meters outside of the second division compound, he was repelled by some force he could only assume to be a barrier of some sort. He sat up—it threw him a good three meters back—stood, dusted himself off, and cautiously approached it. He stretched out his hand, jerked away his charred fingers. His frown angled downward another ten degrees. On the way to the fourth division compound, he decided perhaps another course of action would be appropriate here.

From the bushes just inside the barrier, Soifon watched him go. Her own frown dipped approximately thirty-seven degrees.

She _did_ have a problem.


	3. Interlude: The Selection Process

Unohana Retsu had run out of patience.

This was notable not merely because of her disposition, which was hailed as the most even and gentle of all Sereitei's, but also because emotional turmoil in a person in possession of perfect kidou skills is a potential catastrophe waiting to happen. (See: Hinamori Momo)

Apparently in the early morning hours on the day of Byakuya's third failed visit to his desired future bride, one Zaraki Kenpachi roused his men and took them out on maneuvers. In the eleventh squad these consisted of heading to the living world and slaughtering as many hollows as possible. When this prey was exhausted, they would return to Soul Society and beat each other into bloody pulps. The ones left standing would then be expected to spend "quality time" with Ayasegawa Yumichika, which is apparently a fate worse than spending seventy-two hours in a closet with Yachiru hopped up on espresso (although no one would explain why). By the end of the four-hour tour, the entire division was invariably decimated. Since the lack of kidou users, let alone healers, was the trademark feature of the eleventh division, there was nothing left to do but to haul the casualties and their body parts (some were not in one piece) to the fourth division to be patched up. This always included the added bonus of harassing "fourth squad pansies" during their stay.

And so, when Lord Kuchiki arrived at the compound and quietly demanded medical attention for his scorched white fingers, it was already chaos. Isane was busy regrowing someone's spleen. Hanatarou was reattaching someone's toes. Unohana had just finished closing up a sucking chest wound and was headed to the next room to put an eye back in its socket. When she learned that Kuchiki was growing petulant in his impatience, it only compounded hers.

Had he not cringed—involuntarily or not—when she burst in on him, she might have vaporized him on the spot. But the startled look on his face was enough to calm her; it had been years since someone had recoiled from her in such alarm and it gave her enough satisfaction to be merciful. "Please explain your injury, Kuchiki-taichou," she said evenly, pulling up a chair.

"There is a barrier surrounding the second division," he replied tersely.

"A kidou barrier?"

"Is there a kind I have not been informed of?"

Of course there are, you arrogant (insert expletive here), she thought but did not say. "Was the division informed that your would be visiting?"

"I believe so." He shifted a little in his seat. A mystery. Retsu's curiosity was piqued now. She slowed down the healing a little; she'd be damned if he left and she did not have an explanation.

"Hm. Is there a reason they would wish to keep you away?"

"Soifon-taichou is being unreasonable."

The healer chuckled. "Being unreasonable is what she is, Kuchiki-taichou. Have the two of you had a falling-out?"

"No," came the reply. "I made her an offer of marriage. She seems to have taken offense."

The healing light blinked out. Unohana Retsu knew certain things about all of her patients, as well as her fellow captains. She knew exactly where to scratch Komamura if she wanted his leg to thump. She knew where to rub Kenpachi if she wanted _his_ leg to thump. She knew Hitsugaya sucked his thumb in his sleep if he was over medicated; she knew Mayuri once had a Betty Boop tattoo removed from his ass. But this took the cake. Kuchiki Byakuya apparently had balls of _brass_. "May I ask why?" she asked, shocked she still had a voice. The healing light snapped back on, dimmer than normal.

"She was the logical choice," said Kuchiki-taichou in a dismissive, bored tone.

She coughed. "Please elaborate."

He gave her a look as if to ask, "What's that got to do with anything?" but did not dare to speak the words. He merely sighed. "I considered taking a wife from among the nobility, but I felt there would not be enough common interests to sustain a relationship."

"That is understandable," Unohana lied. Common interests, she knew, did not necessarily make a relationship. She shared few enough with her own beau to know the truth of it. Her teeth clenched at the thought of him; he was going to be made well aware of her displeasure with his training tactics when she saw him next. But that was something unimportant at the moment. She was getting to the bottom of an investigation. "Of course another person from Rukongai would be unacceptable, so you decided to choose a shinigami?" she probed.

"I did," Kuchiki-taichou confirmed.

"There are several female shinigami who would easily be acceptable to your clan. How did you settle upon Soifon-taichou?"

"I did not wish to place myself in a position to be imposed upon by Kyouraku-taichou, so Ise-dono was out of the question." That went without saying. Shunsui's sexual harassment of his vice-captain was virulent enough not to be cured by marriage—his _or _hers. "The situation is different with Nemu-dono, but aside from her unfortunate relationship to Kurotsuchi-taichou, I have had no proof she is capable of bearing children. Hinamori-dono is unstable. Isane-dono is meek. And Kiyone-dono is far too shrill, which caused me to decide against her sister a second time when I re-examined my options."

"Ah." She was almost finished, and the critical question in her mind had not been addressed. It was beneath her dignity to ask, but she did not need to.

"You are currently engaged with the the eleventh division captain. It would have been dishonorable for me to approach you; also I understand that a feud caused between that squad and my own would not be conducive to the recovery of Sereitei after a recent and debilitating war." He took a breath. "The last and only choice is Soifon-taichou." He frowned. "It would be a high honor for a family such as hers, and my own would be pleased by the match. We are similar in temperament and ability. This is quite enough to produce a harmonious marriage. I do not understand why she is so resistant."

Unohana Retsu, having listened to the reasoning of her junior officer, did something—the one thing—she never thought she'd do. She laughed.

Loudly.

And for a considerable amount of time.

Kuchiki's brow furrowed. "I fail to understand what amuses you about this."

Her eyes were tearing up. She waved her hand. "Kuchiki-taichou, I suggest you brush up on your kidou and take your offer to Soifon-taichou's clan before your approach her again. The next time she roughs you up, you will have to wait your turn for medical attention."

He nodded, thanked her tersely, and left.

It wasn't until several moments after his reiatsu had faded that she stopped laughing.

But she continued to chuckle for the next three weeks.


	4. Attempt Two: She Gets It From Her Mama

The Fon clan lived in the twenty-first district of Rukongai. It was a mid-level clan whose fate had intertwined itself with the Shihouin some ten generations earlier. This was the tragedy of their existence, apparently. When the reckless heir of the Shihouin clan ran off with a scruffy scientist, that esteemed family was no longer esteemed. Likewise the Fon clan, whose every energy was devoted solely to their service, fell from grace. Not that the Shihouin had employed them much since that fateful night. Soifon, however, was not contented to sit idle and mourn the loss. She had better things to do.

Which is why she found it absurd (although quite comforting) to be confronted by the remaining Shihouin, complete with black fur and pretty, white, sharp teeth.

Teeth that sank into her ankle as she showered in the morning one week after she set up the barrier. "Ow!" She was so surprised she did not register one of her braids getting soaked (that damn yarn stank if it got wet).

"Get out," came the order from below, "Or I'll take you out at the ankle."

"Yorui—Yoruichi-sama," murmured Soifon, sinking to her knees as was her habit. The other white braid was immediately soaked as well.

"Oh jeez," the black cat coughed impatiently, "get up, will you?"

"Yes, Yoruichi-sama," the second squad captain said pliantly.

Back in her chambers, as Soifon mutely towel-dried her hair, Yoruichi paced. "I understand you have been made an offer of marriage."

Soifon made a face. "Was that enough to call your attention from your current activity, Yoruichi-sama?"

The cat settled onto her haunches in front of her and began to lick her paw. "I was only here to make a run at Juushirou. Stubborn bastard. Maybe I need to reconsider the whole abstinence thing, seeing as he's being such a damn prude. But he immediately told me about your little situation. So tell me, Soifon, why would you reject an offer from the most eligible bachelor in Sereitei?"

"He's a noble."

"And?"

"He's too good looking. I despise pretty men."

"Aaaaaannnnnnd?"

Soifon slammed the towel down. "The nerve! He didn't ask, he practically ordered me! What unbelievable gall! I am the captain of the second division of the Gotei Thirteen and the leader of the Special Forces! _I don't take orders!_"

"Calm down, Soifon."

"Oh. My apologies, Yoruichi-sama." Soifon tugged at the threads of her robe. "I became excited before you, that is unpardonable."

"You are excused, Soifon. I understand your reasoning completely. But you must know he's not the sort to be deterred by a simple refusal."

"I am aware of that. I am working to determine his next move and counter it."

The cat finished her grooming and stared at her. "And what might his next move be?"

"It is hard to say. Gifts, maybe, or perhaps he intends to accost me outside of the compound?"

"You need to think harder, kohai. You have rejected his presence more than once. Why would he assume you would allow any gift from him to reach your doorstep? And also, knowing Byakuya-bo, he may have already thought of the most expedient method to get his way." Yoruichi stood and stretched. "Get it?" she asked.

Soifon's eyes went wide. "You don't mean—"

Yellow cat-eyes narrowed towards her. "How better?"

"Not my _parents_," Soifon whispered. She had not been home in months. Now all she could do was wait and wallow in the grim knowledge that she was about to be sold out.

* * *

Later that morning, the clan heads of both the Kuchiki and the Fon met—on neutral territory, of course. The common grounds just outside Sereitei hosted a lovely park, which was nestled at the bottom of a rich, green valley dotted with trees. It was here that the Kuchiki clan waited on the arrival of the Fon. 

Byakuya, seeing as he needed no person to speak for him, observed from the forefront of the Kuchiki line as the elderly leader of the Fon clan made his delicate way up the lane. The noble captain took a calming breath. He had been anxious to make this day happen. And now it was here. The sakura were bloom; the tinkle of the stream, the brilliant blue of the sky were things that accentuated this moment in which Kuchiki Byakuya would no doubt claim the hand of his desired bride.

If the old bastard ever made it down the street. It seemed that the head of the Fon clan had enjoyed a long, busy life. Such a long and busy life that he barely had the energy to take two steps without stopping and gasping for air. His beard, in the style of Old Yamamoto, was long, long enough to trail at least a foot behind him in the dirt. Two ninjas flanked him, rushing to his side when he took his little rest stops and leaping artfully away when he ground back into movement. Behind him trailed a small, silent couple.

When the clan head reached the Kuchikis, he bowed as low as he could. That only happened to be two inches, but Byakuya was not complaining. "We thank you for answering our call," the nobleman said,

inclining his head slightly and gesturing to the Kuchiki clan elders surrounding him who stood, silent, in either horror or shock.

The Fon Elder nodded his head. The ninja to his right bowed deep. "We are honored to respond to your request, Kuchiki-sama."

Byakuya made a slight effort to turn his lips upward. He made sure he had succeeded by at least twenty degrees before he continued. "And has your clan reached a decision?"

"I don't know anyone by the name of Soifon, no one living, in any case," the Fon elder said, blinking into his beard. "She died three hundred and sixty-two years ago. . ." And then he began to weep. The Kuchiki Elders gasped audibly and began to chatter.

Byakuya, conscious of the noise behind him, coughed.

". . . she was beautiful, like a dragonfly, she hovered! Oh, she barely touched the ground, even as she walked!" The rapturous description went on for another twelve minutes, at which point the Fon Elder nodded off. The ninjas scrambled to catch him lest he fall over; the couple behind him stepped silently forward. Both knelt. "Pardon us for our unseemly address, Kuchiki-sama," the woman said, her forehead on the ground.

"We were very much honored to hear of your wishes," added the man, pulling his wife so she was sitting upright. "Our only remaining child."

"Our only daughter," the woman echoed.

Byakuya nodded. "She shall make an honorable wife," he said, smiling a little.

"Indeed she shall," said Soifon's father, bowing again.

"Yes, she will," agreed Soifon's mother, "when she marries."

"And the wedding the Clan has planned will be exquisite," Byakuya said, smiling a little more.

"Indeed it will," said Soifon's father, bowing again.

"Indeed it shall," said Soifon's mother, "If it happens."

Byakuya's smile froze. His mouth was angled upwards twelve degrees. Soifon's father nearly fell over, caught in the throes of some force that made him do battle with gravity.

All four foot ten of Soifon's mother, clad in the traditional ninja garb of her clan but the head covering, stood grimly defiant before both clans. "Shaolin has rank of her own. She has far surpassed the rule of the clan, and as we speak touches the heels of the Shihouin to whom we still owe fealty. As I understand it, you forewent the common courtesy of asking us prior to your proposal to her, which she rejected. Noble or no, I cannot forgive such rudeness, and it does not induce me to support any marriage save one Shaolin herself agrees to. Gain her favor, and perhaps I will reconsider." Her husband raised a hand to grasp her ankle, to somehow stop this avalanche of feminine might when she scowled and kicked his arm away, hard. Then she hit the ground again, forehead again on the pavement. "I beg your pardon, Kuchiki-sama, and if I am to be punished for my blunt speak I will accept it."

Byakuya tilted his head again. "Perhaps I can overlook your impropriety, if you . . ." he began, but was cut off.

"I will not trade my daughter for your good opinion, sir, so don't bother trying." She was still on the ground, all evidence pointing to her utter submission, but his desired future mother-in-law was suddenly a frighteningly familiar presence.

_So that's how it is,_ Byakuya thought to himself. The reason the five boys before Soifon did not survive. They apparently failed to take after their mother. He sighed to himself. "I understand and accept your decision," he said. "I will sway her, and I _will_ marry her."

"We are honored by your choice," Soifon's mother said. "But you will not inform her that you contacted us. I will not allow her to be bound by filial piety. If you tell her, I will know. Am I clear?"

"As crystal," Byakuya said. "My clan will obey the will of my future betrothed's mother."

"It will be a glorious marriage," Soifon's father hazarded.

"Indeed it will," Soifon's mother echoed.

Byakuya was no longer smiling. "So it will." He turned to his clan and gave them a look, at which they scattered. The ninjas had gathered up Elder Fon and were hauling him back to the twenty-first. Soifon's parents rose quickly and disappeared like the ninjas they were. Byakuya, his face set in grim determination, headed home.

He had battle plans to make.

* * *

**A/N:** This was, by a longshot, the _hardest_ chapter to write so far for this story. No wonder I didn't touch this for over a year. If my agony is going to waste, oh well. I'm still having a crapload of fun here. 


	5. Horrible Daughter and Counterfeit Poet

The Shinigami Women's Association met monthly and in the incidence of special occasions. While a seated rank was not required in order for one's voice to be heard at the meetings, it certainly helped. What also helped, Byakuya came to realize, was to be held in odd affection by the current presiding leader of the group, one Kusajishi Yachiru. Which he, despite the slight conflict of interest that rested between his legs, certainly was. This small piece of good fortune thankfully enabled him to take advantage of his position as proxy for his sister—he gently encouraged her to skip the meeting in order to spend time with her orange-haired pest of a paramour and allow him to attend in her stead—and plant himself strategically in front of his own future bride.

The bride was not pleased. Nor was Madame President, who understood his presence to mean there would be treats on hand and on demand. After her vociferous protest was finally contained, Ise-fukutaichou got down to business. Fundraising, new membership, and future plans which oscillated between a blooming sakura tree viewing and a fireworks festival. Isane-fukutaichou supported the sakura viewing because she knew Unohana-taichou enjoyed nature. Ise-fukutaichou preferred the fireworks because she knew it would attract more males, and, therefore, more money, thus killing two birds with one stone. At the mention of the less fair sex, all eyes save one set swerved to the sole member of that gender present. Byakuya, knowing his personal quest was not worth the risk of embroiling himself in some female feud, demurred to the president, who declared she would rather have an ice cream social. At that point the room descended into polite but soft-spoken chaos.

The one vice that was not heard belonged to the body with the sole set of eyes that had not latched onto Byakuya.

Soifon's mind was elsewhere. Of course she was appalled that her suitor would go so far as to crash a SWA meeting. But that was the _least_ of her problems. She had waited exactly several days for the axe to fall and crush her into a hapless wedding gown. Instead, when her fate was handed to her, it was not the fate she anticipated.

Her mother's calligraphy had always been flawless. Soifon remembered, almost fondly, crouching at her mother's side as she dipped her brush into sepia and wrote—drew—sharp, graceful words. Awed. Her mother was the first in a short line of women whom Soifon unabashedly worshiped. Which made it all the harder for her to fail her, which she did, over and over, up to and beyond the point where she put on a captain's haori. She was short and ill-tempered, prone to emotional outbursts between long stretches of dispassionateness. Above all, in a family where there were no remaining offspring, she scorned the idea of marrying and sustaining the bloodline. Her parents were clearly and properly horrified, though neither declared it openly. Until that day, six days after a meeting Soifon never knew happened.

The letter was on her futon; no evidence betrayed its method of delivery. Soifon approached it gingerly. Her mother had minimal kidou skills, but the lettering that marked it as intended for her was jagged and angry. Soifon took a breath and opened it. Her heart twinged a bit at the brief but curt message.

_**Horrible daughter! Your pride will be the death of our clan. Reconsider.**_

The words had been ringing in her head ever since. The letter did not state whether her parents had given their blessing. Surely she could not act without knowing for certain? And why did she feel she needed to act at all? It was maddening. In the past when she fell into a place of confusion, Soifon had gone to Yoruichi. Because Yoruichi was older, wiser, beautiful.

But Yoruichi was busy now trying to sexually assault the fortunate (or unfortunate?) Ukitake Juushirou and had no time for her. Strangely, this reminded Soifon of an anime she had watched with a visiting Inoue about two girls named Nana. Yoruichi resembled the tall dark one in almost shameful ways, and Soifon grudgingly admitted when goaded by the Goddess of Flash that she shared several traits with the smaller, uncertain one. Inoue and her frightening shojou anime had been banned from the second division since then. But the impression this made on Soifon outlived the ban by what felt like centuries. "Stop thinking about it, Hachi," Yoruichi had laughed at her when she mentioned it. "We're the only ones here who watched it. I won't tell a soul." And she hadn't called her that since. But still. . .

Her mother wanted her to reconsider. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Were they trying to make her accept the offer of her own free will? What would be the point in that? She could not fathom the meaning of her mother's words. And she was acting as if nothing had happened, like some robot with a predetermined schedule from which it could not deviate. Which brought her into direct and unexpected contact with the object of her consternation.

Her fingernails were dirty. She was surrounded by the quiet cacophony of feminine debate, which showed no signs of being resolved. And across from her, staring, was that man. He titled his head, nodded a fraction. Asshole didn't have the decency to pretend he hadn't been caught staring—not gazing, like a dreamy groom, but _staring_ like a damned stalker. But then Kuchiki Byakuya was not dreamy. He was all pragmatism and arrogance. Masked with pretty white skin and flinty gray eyes like the haughty but desirable male lead in a romance manga.

That was enough. Soifon excused herself and made the solitary trek back to the second. Her mother, while weak in reiatsu, was all too powerful when it came to suggestion. Already, Soifon had conceived a reason to look at Kuchiki with something other than scorn. And it was unnerving.

Just as unnerving as the message waiting for her when she got there. Expensive, pristine paper that could only have come from the desk of the Sixth Squad captain himself. Elegant calligraphy.

_**Air where you linger **_

_**is holy; the place where you **_

_**lay is sacred**_

And bad haiku. _Horrible_ haiku. But. . . she sniffed the paper furtively. It smelled of cherry blossoms. _Sweet._

Byakuya did not leave the meeting until it was over. The debate would have gone on for hours had Madame President not gotten bored and proceeded to gnaw on the spine of Ise-fukutaichou's notorious book, which reportedly smelled of tea. Isane-fukutaichou smothered a chuckle as Ise's jaw dropped and she scrambled over to reign in Madame President. Then she finally dismissed the assembly. Byakuya had to stop himself from using shunpo to escape. But he was puzzled, thus did not stop to exchange pleasantries on the way out as normal.

There had been no discernible reaction from Soifon-taichou. Perhaps his missive had arrived late? Or maybe—maybe she was reading it now, and her heart was already turning toward him, if only a half-millimeter at a time. He had no way of knowing until his spy reported in. Patient though he was, the suspense was killing him. Thankfully, he had come away from the abortive meeting with Soifon-taichou's clan with the beginnings of a plan, and the results of that plan were waiting outside the sixth for him, huffing and munching cookies at the same time. "I think she liked it, taichou," Ohmaeda breathed between bites. "She was sniffing the paper with a weird look on her face."

Byakuya's eyes narrowed. "Define weird."

"Like she didn't know whether to eat it or stuff it into her bra," came the garbled response.

"Has she ever done that before?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Does she even _wear_ a bra?" Information like that might be critical at some juncture.

"You'd think she didn't, not much to hold up there. But she was interested," Ohmaeda said. Then he held out his hand.

So. Poetry was a soft spot? Byakuya knew he would have to acquire more, then. He paid the man who was about to become a graceful, delicate ballerina and walked as quickly as he could to the office of his lovelorn, poetry-writing vice-captain. The office, as expected, was empty and in shambles. This only made it easier to locate the mediocre poetry inspired by and dedicated to an abandoned human girl. While Byakuya read it over and cringed at its pure awfulness, he knew he had no compunction about plagiarizing it in order to secure his bride.

He also made a mental note to get some more cherry-scented perfume.

* * *

**A/N:** I've been thinking. If Soifon is Hachi to Yoruichi's Nana, then Byakuya is—Takumi? Sure, the long,dark hair, arrogance, and all-around beauty are there, but since I started writing this I don't see Byakuya as anywhere near as much of a bastard as I used to. I guess they don't call this crack for nothing. If you don't watch NANA, a thousand pardons and please disregard the above ponderable. 


	6. The Case of the Girdle

Every day for several weeks after the first haiku made its way into her presence, she would arrive at the Second Division Compound to find another gift. A sheer, silk scarf a shade of green that matched her eyes perfectly. A tortoiseshell comb trimmed in silver and emblazoned with the _homonka_. A cloth-bound volume detailing the history of the Shihouin and their subordinates, stretching back over twenty centuries. And, of course, semi-weekly, more Extraordinarily Bad Haiku written in bold but delicate strokes on paper that had been soaked in cherry blossoms. These last Soifon kept pressed in her book on the Shihouin, which she kept under her pillow. Her time was now split between her work and the interminable wait between one gift and the next. She had seen, even possessed beautiful and valuable things in her lifetime. But none of them had been gifts. From a suitor. Whom, upon closer inspection, seemed to grow more beautiful and dignified by the day. She accepted Kuchiki-sama's gifts to mollify her family. She kept them because they pleased her. Until that day when an unsavory fact about her beautiful, dignified suitor came to light.

There was something different about Ohmaeda.

While Soifon pretended not to be waiting for her next installment of Extraordinarily Bad Haiku, she contented herself with her work, which included the pleasurable chore of watching over training exercises in the second division dojo. Typically, her vice-captain was the last person she would ever expect to see in that place. He had not lingered there since the _incident_ twenty years ago, which involved an unidentified powder and his shorts. The combination of the two resulted in a rancid-smelling paste and an embarrassing rash. Soifon had been determined at the time; if she could not get him to resign, she would at least make him keep his distance. After that, she was not forced to observe his sweaty personage in the dojo, but had to endure cookie crumbs in her hair at official appearances. Seeing as the operation eliminated one irritation, Soifon did not consider it a failure.

Which is why his sudden return to the training area both shocked and irritated her. Until she noticed his _modifications_.

The massive gut—one of many sources of derision from not only Soifon but her other subordinates, who'd actually _worked_ to be there—was missing. He adhered to the dress code, his otherwise blobulous body compressed into the tight-fitting black apparel; it was pressed close enough to his skin to make him a joyful target if any of the underlings dared. His pecs bounced cheerfully with every move. Apparently flaunting his suddenly flattened midsection, he pranced—the spring in his step kept it from being pacing—through the rows, shouting out orders that contradicted the acting master.

If the acting master had been anyone but Soifon, he may have gotten away with it.

When she stopped speaking the rest of the room went silent and stood perfectly still. Several minutes after that, Ohmaeda noticed that his directions were not being obeyed and looked toward the raised platform where the master usually led the group. That person was typically of a lower rank and could be bullied into ceding his power.

Upon discovering the Captain in that place rather than some random underling, Ohmaeda turned green.

"You seem to be missing something, Ohmaeda-fukutaichou," Soifon growled before she left the platform to examine him more closely.

The rest of the men fled, Ohmaeda attempted to scream, and Soifon smiled wickedly. Amusement was hard to come by; she wasn't about to waste this unexpected treat.

* * *

The girdle—and it was a huge one—ended up on the wall of her office, like a boy band poster would adorn a teenage girl's or, more accurately, like a deer's head would hover and survey the expanse of a sportsman's den. It was black and stretchy and made up of some super-fabric obviously created by the twelfth. Apparently—and she learned this from the meek but honest Nemu-fukutaichou—it was designed to conceal without constricting, meaning there was some sort of kidou mixed in that gave the wearer the _look_ of slenderness without the actual slenderness. However, Nemu added placidly, since Kurotsuchi-taichou only made such a fabric for himself when he discovered he was losing his youthful physique, such an object must have been purchased, and at a very high price. More than a vice-captain's salary, at any rate. While the Ohmaeda clan was well-off, they were not _that_ well off. Indeed, few clans besides the Kuchiki could consider such an expenditure paltry.

It didn't take Soifon long to connect the dots. It took her even less time to run to Yoruichi with it.

The Shihouin heir was soaking in the hot spring beneath Soukyoku. Sulking. Upon hearing Soifon's theory, she the scowl became more pronounced. "_Men_," she huffed. "Either they're dumb, brilliant, or _good_, but they're all just _sneaky_. Kuchiki's a terrible example of a guy, you know. He couldn't leave well enough alone and has that fat jackass telling him all of your business? That's completely unacceptable. I'd have his balls, you know. His balls." Her knuckles crackled as she formed a fist in front of her barely-covered breast.

Soifon, blushing at the sight of her nude hero, blinked a little. "What about Ohmaeda?"

"What about him? I came here to get at Ukitake, do you see me stalking Sentaro?"

"Yoruichi-sama—"

"I mean, yes, I enjoy the little game of cat and mouse and everything, but what good is it if it never ends? I just don't understand what he's all prudish for, all of a sudden. I thought we had an understanding."

"I understand that, Yoruichi-sama, but what do I say to Kuchiki-taichou?"

Yoruichi, who had been glaring at the water, looked up. The scowl melted away. "You don't want to give the presents back."

Soifon examined her feet. "No."

Yoruichi gave an exasperated groan. "Shaolin-chan, you're on your own from here on out. I specialize in attracting and capturing men, not driving them away. And oh," she added, with a sly grin, "no one said you had to give the gifts back if you don't accept his offer."

"I can keep them?"

"Yes, if you're feeling greedy. But you'd better think of something to say to Kuchiki before he pays Ohmaeda enough to buy your job." Then her face softened a little. "This must be overwhelming to you. Have there been any other messages from your clan?"

"None," Soifon said. "Mother was never a person to lead anyone anywhere. She always pushes from behind. But no, she hasn't said anything else."

Yoruichi sighed a little. "It's ironic, you know. Me chasing, you being chased. I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you."

"Oh, no, Yoruichi-sama." Soifon bowed, thinking of how much now more than ever she envied—but pitied—Ukitake-taichou. She was blushing again. "You have always been a shining example to me.

Yoruichi waved her hand. "Not anymore, Soifon-taichou. You're free to choose for yourself and I think I know what it is you really want. Just be sure _you_ know it, too."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Do not betray yourself," Yoruichi said, amber eyes glowing. "Do not settle for less than what you want or deserve. Make sure Byakuya-bo understands this, either way."

"Ah," Soifon said, understanding in her eyes. Yoruichi-sama was always right.

She was going to put an end to this, one way or another.

Even if she'd miss the Extraordinarily Bad Haiku. When her heart sank at the thought of it, she brushed off the feeling as weak hesitation.

* * *

The gifts were waiting in his office when he arrived the next morning. The message was simple, in tiny characters scrawled on grainy brown paper.

**Please consider this to be my final answer. I cannot abide your heavy handed methods. If you wish to employ Ohmaeda, please be my guest. I have no use for one with such divided loyalties.**

It was not signed. Byakuya did not frown as he sifted through the box of sundries, cataloging them in his mind, wondering what he was to do with them now. Passing them off to his sister would be tacky. And the haiku—he frowned, finally. Then smiled. Widely.

She had kept the haiku. It wasn't over yet.

Abarai Renji, he concluded, deserved a raise. Byakuya decided to give him Ohmaeda's intended pay as a bonus.

While all this was going on, Ohmaeda, who had failed to free himself from the Second division dojo's broom closet, waited patiently for some member of the fourth to find him, let him out, and heal him. His freed belly, though covered in blotchy purple marks the size of little fists, rumbled. Cheerfully.

* * *

**homonka**—"hornet's crest," the butterfly symbol created by a strike from Suzumebachi

**A/N:** I was a little worried I'd hit a dead end with the last chapter. The glorious romance that was toying with my mind was becoming implausible. It _is_ implausible the way I saw it then, but thankfully Soifon has been doing some thinking too, so I know now what the deal is. Yay for brainstorming. And oh, yeah. _Blobulous_ is definitely not a word. But it should be.


	7. Fire in the Sky, Girl on the Grass

After he received the note included in the box containing most of his gifts to her, Byakuya stopped sending her things. Her retention of the haiku had taught him to hope as he had scarcely allowed himself to before. He was fairly certain that continuing to send her things she apparently did not want would only irritate her. So he settled in for an extended period of observation.

At captains' meetings, he dared not speak to her and took her calm, courteous response to his slight nod in her direction as a sign that there was no hostility, but no particular attachment either. In the rare occasion when he would meet her on the street, she would bow and they would exchange pleasantries as if nothing had ever happened. If Soifon had been swayed in one way or another, she was not owning it.

He would not allow himself to feel frustrated. Such an emotion could only wreck his logic. Instead he was puzzled. What else could he do to convince her of the wisdom, the utter _rightness_ of his choice? He needed new ideas.

None of the tomes in the Kuchiki library, as expected, covered the subject of wooing and winning females. Asking any of his servants was out of the question. He found himself calling on the only colleague he knew for certain was well-versed in the subject.

Kyouraku was quite pleased by this. He was sprawled in his office, for once, instead of on the roof trying not to fall off. Before him sat a banzai tree that had been cut into a squat but graceful design. He was humming to himself when Byakuya entered unannounced, and cast a stealthy glance to the corner where Ukitake-taichou seemed to be dozing before he said softly, "Let's take this outside, Kuchiki."

As they walked into the open courtyard that was settled in the middle of the eighth division compound, Byakuya looked at him. "He's not ill," Kyouraku said calmly. "Just tired. It seems you are not the only person in Sereitei with woman problems."

"I did not say I had such issues," Byakuya coughed into his hand. "And what kind of problems could Ukitake-taichou possibly have?"

Kyouraku yawned and stretched, weaving his way around a few trees before stopping directly in front of Byakuya. "I suppose you're too young to know, aren't you. It seems your intended's former master has it in for him."

"Shihouin-san." Byakuya nearly sputtered; it was hard to keep his voice from rising in pitch. Of all the unlikely things. . .

"Don't be surprised. Juu-chan is a handsome man. Women have always found him charming."

"I did not intend to imply such a thing was impossible. It merely strikes me as odd that such a woman as _she_ would set her cap for him."

Kyouraku's sudden grin was blinding. "I believe you have stated your own dilemma, have you not?"

"Pardon?"

"How could Yoruichi desire Ukitake? How could you, the most uptight and upright man in Sereitei, with your title and your riches, decide upon lower nobility, cantankerous, just-as-soon-devour-a-man's-balls-as-look-at-him Soifon? Yes, everyone but me is agreed that marriage is wonderful, but what about the bare bones of it? Do you have _affection_ for her?"

Byakuya could only gape at him.

Kyouraku sighed in exasperation. "Hell of a day to be sober. Can you _imagine_ having affection for her? What point is a marriage without at least that, for her or for you? I doubt you ever thought of that, as used as you must be to having your way. Let me tell you this so I can wash my hands of it, seeing as Ukitake needs me more: If you do not think you can care for her, please drop your suit. For the sake of _my_ nerves and quite possibly _your_ balls. Now go home and think about it."

Kyouraku had escorted him to the gate and closed it in his face before Byakuya could formulate a response. Blinking, he turned and trudged home. At the foremost in his head was the fact that Kyouraku wanted proof of affection. Never once had he mentioned love.

But, Byakuya realized, neither had he. He felt himself go cold as the frown settled on his face. He did have things to think about.

* * *

In the process of mulling things over, he received an unexpected break. The SWA, he was informed by an ambivalent Rukia a few weeks later, had decided upon fireworks. He looked at her quizzically as she sighed. "I suppose I should invite Renji to escort me," she said.

"What of Kurosaki?"

"He suggested it. Told me that I should be nicer to him, since he's so down. Why does everyone act like I'm the only thing that can fix that mess?" Her frown was decidedly guilty.

Byakuya stared intently at his knuckles. Rukia had no idea that he knew the particulars of that sad story. There had been a time that she might have fixed it, but it was long gone. However, that did not mean she was absolved of her slight responsibility. Had Abarai's hopes for Rukia not been completely dashed, he would never have wandered into the world of that human girl he would love a thousand times more but still be unable to keep. Apparently Kurosaki had figured this out as well. Shockingly, he had the logic—and the gall—to push Rukia toward atonement. Byakuya was mildly surprised to find himself not only agreeing with the decision, but seconding it. "It would be good to see him sober. He would never drink in your company."

Rukia gave him a look. She never knew how to react to him, he knew. His tendency to merely criticize her and send her away had evaporated over the years after the war. He had been determined to become close to her, as a good brother should be. But even his kindness seemed intimidating to her; even now she did not completely trust it. And she certainly did not believe his benevolence ever wafted in Renji's direction.

Even though it truly did, that was beside the point. Those two, the closest people in his existence, provided a perfect cover. Rukia understood it halfway. "Do you mean to attend as well, Nii-sama?"

"I have attended my share of meetings. It would be rude not to show support for the organization," Byakuya said. "I do not intend to hover, as you've accused me of doing."

He intended to have a friendly chat with a certain captain in possession of his pilfered haiku.

Oddly, on that starry night several weeks later, friendly chatter was the last thing on his mind. The two people closest to him in his life still felt it necessary to walk five paces behind him. The hakama he wore was hardly his finest and he had left the ceremonial scarf and headwear at home. But still the deference, even from them. And Soifon was nowhere in sight.

As the fireworks started Rukia and Renji settled under a tree, a good few feet apart but so clearly _together_, and politely ignored him. They spoke in low, amused tones about the crowd, the weather, the very tree under which they sat. Byakuya suddenly begrudged them their comfort. But this was what he had wanted. He had no right to complain or to horn in on the conversation he knew they needed to have. Why was he so in tune with their feelings and yet unable to discern the thoughts of his intended bride? When he rose and wandered away, he thought it was a wasted night and he should go home.

But an explosion in dancing blues and greens stopped him. Along with a small hand on his wrist. He glanced down to find Yachiru gazing up at him giddily. "You're not leaving, Byaku-shi?"

"I will stay," he said without thinking. He had not viewed fireworks since Hisana had gone. Perhaps he could find some small pleasure in them again. . . He sank down in the space next to where Yachiru had flopped down and was gaping at the shining lights. They _were_ beautiful. . . .

As a red and gold dragon faded into nothing, he felt another presence settle beside him. "I did not expect to see you here," he said after a long silence.

"Nor I you," Soifon replied. "I admit I did try to avoid it."

'What changed your mind?"

"Ise-fukutaichou made a threat. As a member of the SWA, I am obliged to at least make an appearance."

"Megane-chan is scary," Yachiru giggled.

"That she can be," Byakuya agreed. "Kusajishi-fukutaichou, someone brought that cotton candy thing you enjoy so much. Won't you go get us some?" He pulled a few coins out of the silk pouch slung at his waist and handed them to her. The child giggled and was gone in an instant.

Soifon tilted her face toward the sky. "Perhaps that was a bad idea," she said.

"The eleventh will intercept her before she causes too much damage," Byakuya said, looking at her. Her qipao was green trimmed with a soft, dark golden thread. It was not that she looked more feminine in it, even though she did. This strange being, dogged fighter, stern commander—lover of bad haiku. There was something else in her air, her bearing. She was seeking something. "You look well in that. It suits you."

"Thank you," she said, the blush rising to her cheeks ever so slightly. "Yoruichi chose it for me."

"She has a good eye."

"Yes," Soifon agreed.

They stared at the sky in silence. As the last rocket soared up and blossomed, he gazed at her earnestly. "I wish to invite you to tea."

"I suspected you would," she said. "I was not firm enough to finish it, I know."

"I am glad of that."

"Are you? Because you are still certain of your future success, or because you truly think you would enjoy my company?" Green eyes narrowed, seeking some sliver of hesitation, some hint of a lie.

"Both," he said calmly, inwardly shocked. Even when she had closed a door on him, she had opened a window. However, he was outwardly shocked by her response.

"I accept."

* * *

**Qipao:** Also known as the Cheongsam, is the classic dress for Chinese women (source: my-qipao dot com). If anyone can produce fanart of Soifon wearing one, they would be _awesome_. 


	8. Soifon Comes to Tea

Her hard green stare across the chabudai was his first trophy. The time it took to get her here, much less sitting across from him in her captain's haori—he insisted she leave her zanpaktou in the care of his valet and she allowed it, for obvious reasons—is worth the prickling feeling her gaze created in his neck. But he is not cowed, not in his own home. He returned the stare and then some, until she blinked and a faint pinkness rose to her cheeks. "Please drink," he entreated and she raised the cup to her lips cautiously and sipped. Paused.

"Milk and sugar," she murmured. "How did you—"

He coughed. Of course this trivial bit of information had been included in Ohmaeda's earliest report, which also included information on the heated floors in her office and her predisposition to moodiness.

"Oh," she says, setting the cup down with a decided thunk. "You did your research, I remember."

"It was necessary," he said, setting his own cup down. "I would not have come this far without it." Her head tilted and her brow furrowed just a little. "I admit for a while I despaired of my chances for success. It was not my intent to pry; I wished only to know what would help me to know you. Talk to you."

"I understand that," she said. "Did it ever occur to you to simply speak with me, as we are doing now?"

"That was my intent when I visited your offices. You never allowed me the opportunity."

"Ah." The blush bloomed crimson.

"I would like to know more, of course. But I do understand these things must be balanced. Do you wish to ask me anything?"

She gasped a little, as if caught completely off-guard. "I have more questions than you could imagine," she said abruptly. "I am respectful of your position. You need not answer them all."

"Please," he said, lips angling slightly upward.

"You were married before."

"Yes."

"I met Hisana-san once. She was very beautiful."

"Yes, she was," he agreed.

"But she did not seem. . .forceful. Why, after that, would you seek one who may be closer to you in ability as a wife?"

He sighed. She was dancing around the question and most likely knew it. "I have never sought to replace Hisana. My duty and obligation to my clan is to produce an heir. I wish this heir to be equal or greater than I, but I also wish the mother to be one who can also be my wife."

"I fail to see the distinction," Soifon said quietly.

He took a breath. If anyone should know, it must be her. "My sister has left the manor and now spends little time here. All the time I spent holding her at arm's length I was able to forget how empty the manor was before I brought her here. Hisana once told me I might have died of loneliness before her if I were not so cold. I am cold, but I am sometimes—lonely. A partner who is near my equal would end that."

She stared at him. He became acutely aware that the prickling at his neck had become an itch. "I am not certain I believe your answer," she said finally. "It feels like something you believe I want to hear."

"How could such an embarrassing thing be something you wanted to hear?" His throat was closing.

"It's like baring your soul to me in hopes I'll be obligated to do the same," she said. Her fingers balled into fists; she was fully aware that her words might insult him. But she pushed forward. "If we know each other's secrets, we'll be tied together." Then she paused. "And if I do not share an intimate fact about myself, or eventually refuse your suit, I'll have something over you. You'll be forced to silence me." Here she stopped, her face flaming.

His eyes went wide, then he felt it: the bubble in his throat that threatened to erupt into laughter. He pursed his lips. Where the hell was his coldness now, when he needed it?

She stared at him, her grimace pronounced and prominent. "Go ahead," she choked out.

She was a teenage girl with no sense of her vivid imagination or its power to carry her off. She was shocked at her words and to whom she addressed them. She was grasping at straws, she truly had no experience with men in this situation. She was a captain hundreds of years old, she was deadly and dangerous. She was a walking contradiction. She was adorable. 

"Soifon-taichou, I had no idea you had such thoughts of me in your head," he said when he finally regained his composure. "If you were so suspicious of me, why did you come?"

"You asked me."

"Dozens of times, and only now are we speaking as I wished." He laid his hand flat on the table, consciously inching it forward until it met that place where her own hand had only slightly uncurled itself. "Tell me why."

She examined his clean, white hands. "I was curious," she said. She would not look up. 

It was a good thing. He didn't want her to see him grinning like an idiot. Not just yet. "That pleases me," he said. But where to go after that? His plans for flattering her were completely dashed and he didn't care one bit. 

They settled into what was, compared to the exchange, a comfortable silence, for him at least. She fidgeted a little and complimented him on the tea. 

Before she left him, he asked her to come back for dinner at some future unspecified date.

She agreed. 

* * *

**Chabudai:** a short-legged table used in traditional Japanese homes. I'm not totally sure it's intimate, but that's just as well. We don't want to scare her off by getting too close too soon now, do we?


	9. Pie and Chicken

The gray eyes gazing down at her were quite serious. Her own reflection etched into the pupils was an alarming mix of want and apprehension. How did they get here? His hovering reminded her of a dragonfly pausing to land. She cringed a little as his hair grazed her temple. She knew the answer to that one. Nine dinners, seven pleasant walks, and a particularly succulent piece of something he called "pie".

"Lemon meringue," he'd said to her, lips turned upwards in a bemused expression. This was a treasure, and he was unused to sharing. But the curious expression on her face, the tentative nibbling at the offered portion, then the widening of her eyes were things he observed with interest.

"This is very good," she gasped.

"It is. Almost as good as the sweet look on your face."

She stopped mid-bite, stared. "Kuchiki-taichou, it is unnecessary to continue complimenting me."

He looked at her quizzically. "Does it seem false to you?"

"I did not say that. I merely suggested you do it in moderation."

"I did not compliment you. I stated that the expression of enjoyment on your face was pleasing."

Soifon frowned and took another bite. Wasn't that the definition of a compliment? To debate the subject any further would reveal that she rather enjoyed the ego massage she received whenever she was within earshot of the Kuchiki lord. Too much. Far, far too much. Whoever coached him in wooing had clearly devoted several chapters to empty flattery. Not that she thought his flattery was empty. It was just unnerving. "This. . . pie," she said quickly. "I am not familiar with it. Where did you acquire such a thing?"

"My sister made a gift of one to me." He was smirking a little. "Pecan. I was so pleased with it she has seen fit to bring me other kinds from time to time."

"Ah," Soifon smiled back, a little. "It is nice to be close with your sister, isn't it."

"We are not close." The smile was suddenly gone, but he was not frowning. The grim determination seeped into his voice. "There is. . . much I must make up to her. My choices in the past were incorrect."

Soifon gaped a little, felt her face soften. Repentance, from one such as he, was rare. "It was a chaotic time," she said, laying down her fork. "We all did things we regret."

Byakuya coughed. "But it is the past. Best not to dwell on it."

"That is true," she echoed, gazing down at the half-empty pie tin. "I like the pie. It's very sweet."

"Perhaps I can have Rukia get you one," Byakuya said. "She knows the best places to get them, and although my kitchen staff is among the best, they have yet to master the technique."

"Perhaps I'll take you up on that." She was now gazing at her fingernails. It was strange, talking with him as if they were old friends. She was not uncomfortable, but just a little amazed. They spent hours talking about mundane things. As if that little bit of sharing was too much, and both had returned to their corners like winded boxers to regain their breath.

He had the remainder of the pie wrapped up for her to take home. While they were waiting, he escorted her on a walk around the carp pond in his garden. They walked in calm silence, and she felt herself grow giddy at the feel of the balmy wind in her hair. She stretched, feeling the languor seep into her skin. "You know," she confessed without looking back at him, "this place is peaceful. I'd spend all day there if I had a place like this."

"You are welcome to come here any time," came the calm response. "Perhaps one day you might indulge me in a sparring match."

She giggled in spite of herself. "Two kidou users in a sparring match? We'd demolish the place."

After a long moment, he said coolly, "We do not need to spar with kidou."

"Then how would we—" when it sank in, she nearly toppled into the pond. His hand snaked out to steady her, but his pull was stronger than either of them anticipated; she fell onto the grassy bank with him right after her. He sucked in breath; his hand was bent at an awkward angle just at her shoulder where he broke his own fall. Catching his breath, he gazed at her.

"Something like this, I think," he said with a slight smirk.

Soifon froze. He was far, _far_ too close. What was the polite thing to do? Push him off? Knee him? The thought of coming anywhere close to touching him there, even with her kneecap, made her mind spiral off into the universe, hitting every imaginable worst-case scenario along the way. . .

Until she felt it. The slight sucking in of his breath before he made his choice and carried it out. His lips were stiff—which did not surprise her—but warm, which did surprise her. It was brief and light, and he pulled himself up as if to gage her reaction. She blinked at him, dumbfounded.

He tilted his head, ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed and he came to his feet, offering her his hand. What was he thinking? "The pie should be ready," he said, gazing toward the house as he puled her up. He let go of her hand.

"Yes," Soifon said. "We should go back." She followed him back to that elegant parlor, where he bowed as he presented her with the desert and asked her to come again soon, but not with the enthusiasm she was used to. He had overstepped himself, that was certain. But he did not excuse himself, nor did he ask her what her feelings were on the matter. Dismissed and dizzy, Soifon wandered home.

What is there to do when you are a centuries-old woman whose first kiss was apparently a disaster to the person who kissed you?

She needed to talk to Yoruichi-sama.

* * *

He wanted to talk to Kyouraku-taichou, but he did not dare. Long after Soifon was gone, he wandered to his office, the knot in his stomach tight and potent. It was not the way he planned, that. He had her, knew he could close his hand and she would not try to escape. But those words were stuck in his head, in the way that Kyouraku Shunsui's voice always resonated with anyone unfortunate enough to hear it. _"Can you _imagine_ having affection for her?" _

He had shrugged off the words, or _thought_ he had. But then that moment came and before he could claim her—his will collapsed in on itself. He wanted to give her a kiss that would take her breath away, soon to be followed by her resistance. He was going to do it, and in the split second prior to it had congratulated himself on maneuvering her into such a vulnerable position. But when the time came. . .

But he didn't. _Couldn't._

His office was a quiet place to hide from everyone but himself. And Hisana. He crouched before her. Her violet eyes gazed back at him, unblinking and unfeeling. She would have an answer to this, his current dilemma. But she was not there. He found his voice. "What do I do?"

There was no answer. He bowed his head. The day was going to come—if it was not already here—that Soifon-taichou would find herself jilted before she even officially become a bride. And if his theory was correct, she would not be pleased. At all. He'd been in messes before. But this was going to be a very, _very_ big one. He needed to speak with his vice-captain. The sooner he could start fortifying his defenses, the better.

* * *

**A/N:** Let the war begin.


	10. Hell Hath No Fury

Many years ago, Hisana had put up just as much of a fight as Soifon-taichou, he remembered. Only Hisana was far less polite in her continual rejection of his offer. Which, in his callow youth, only made her more appealing.

"Why do you keep coming here?"

He gazed up at her from his seat, frowning. _How dare she?_ "I want some dumplings," he said.

"You drive out business," the girl continued, paying no attention to the sake stains on her kimono or the the rough skin on the little hands she waved around while she berated him. "Shinigami scare people around here. Can you not at least be honorable and mindful of the situation here? Some of us must work to live."

"I have as much right to a meal here as anyone else," he said, "so long as I pay. I would offer to pay double to placate you, but considering your rudeness, I do not feel inclined to do so."

"Hisana-san!" The owner hissed at her from the kitchen. "Do not insult paying customers!"

Hard violet eyes met the paying customer's. "This is no customer, tenchou. This is a bad spirit and I am attempting to exorcise it."

"Hisana," the bad spirit said.

She scowled. "What?"

"You have a beautiful name. It is clearly wasted on a girl of singularly bad temper."

The thirty-seventh day after she caught his eye, the third day he came to her place of employment to observe her small, wiry body and raven-dark hair, she dumped a plate of lukewarm dumplings on him. She was fired within seconds, and the shock induced her to accept his sudden proposal—sudden being four days after she'd been turned out of the boarding house where she'd been staying—before she had really thought it out. He had waited just long enough for panic to set in; it had long been clear to him there was no other way besides trapping her to possess her. He did not care that it was underhanded, so solid was his determination. And after a long while, she no longer minded. So she told him, and Hisana never lied. So he thought. The one lie was the secret she decided against carrying to her grave, and that was how he gained a sister.

A sister, as it turned out, who was conveniently present to push him out of the way before a flock of throwing stars could embed themselves into his torso. What had he been thinking of, to leave himself so vulnerable that she had to protect him? He looked into Rukia's startled violet eyes and was reminded of two other women. The first was her sister. The second was her sister's would-be successor. Flat on his back and quite undignified, he took a deep breath. His sister crouched over him like a startled cat guarding a kitten. He nudged her a little with his knee.

Rukia scrambled immediately to her feet. "Nii-sama, are you unhurt?"

Byakuya rose, frowning. This made four attempts on his life. Soifon was serious. Deadly serious.

"Thank you, Rukia," he said as he rose and dusted off his haori.

"What was that? Who is doing this?" his sister demanded.

"You needn't concern yourself with that." He looked around himself. They were outside of the first division compound, which was surrounded by trees. There was no telling where the projectiles had come from and the assassin was probably long gone. It may even have been Soifon herself.

"Please do not tell me that," Rukia murmured. "It is my concern if someone wishes to harm you."

He looked at her. "No," he corrected curtly, "it is Abarai's. Your concern is your captain. I understand he has had problems of his own lately."

Rukia shook her head. "Problems like the one he's having are best resolved with diplomacy. Shihouin-san doesn't want to kill him, she wants to marry him."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Byakuya snapped.

Rukia frowned. "Only if they let it be."

"Is it because you are in love that you think of it so lightly?" he asked, not thinking for once.

"Nii-sama, didn't you love my sister? Don't you remember how it was?"

"Perhaps it was too long ago. I have had too many examples of love ruining people lately not to look at it with a wary eye. "

"That's not right, Nii-sama," Rukia said calmly. "I am not so old or as wise as you or my captain, but I know this. Love does not ruin people. They ruin themselves by fighting it."

He could only stare at her. It was the first time she had ever contradicted him.

He didn't know whether to hug her for being so simple or strangle her for being right. Of course she would know. Her own experiences were plenty to back up her argument. But that aside, he was not interested in hearing her out. That would only lead to him having to explain to her what sin he'd committed to put him in his current predicament. That would have been utterly unacceptable. And humiliating.

After all his hard work, Kuchiki Byakuya had balked. This fact on its own was enough to curdle his blood. But then there was the other thing.

Kyouraku-taichou did not laugh at him. Not a chuckle, not a snicker. He merely shook his head. "So forty years of solitude was not enough for you. Please tell me you have not done anything inappropriate with Soifon-taichou that will make her or her clan want your head. That would be an inconvenient mess to clean up."

His office was a small space, Byakuya had noticed. Even without Ukitake-taichou hibernating in the corner. This was the last place he had intended to come, after slaughtering a phalanx of ninjas out for blood twelve days ago. But he could not possibly report it to the first division without making his private problem an issue of public knowledge. It made sense to report to his most senior colleague, but somehow he doubted Ukitake-taichou would be sympathetic, or even in a state of mind to offer advice. Especially if he'd already been captured by Shihouin Yoruichi. Unohana was out of the question. So he had trudged to the eighth division compound with his heart sinking every step. The reception he received when he got there was not the one he had anticipated.

Kyouraku motioned him to sit and he obeyed. "Take this." The older captain said pouring him a cup of sake. "Are you unhurt?" he asked, gazing at a large spot of drying blood on his haori.

Byakuya looked at it and blinked. "It's not mine."

"Perhaps it should be. Did I not tell you to drop this suit if you were not serious?"

"I was serious."

"If you had been serious, you would not be here."

Byakuya was silent.

Kyouraku groaned. "You came here for help in smoothing this over, did you not?"

Byakuya quietly drank his sake.

"I will not aid you if you cannot ask properly."

Byakuya finished his sake and set the cup gently on Kyouraku's desk.

"I will not only _not_ help you, but I will encourage Yoruichi to lend her _considerable_ resources to Soifon-taichou so she can regain her honor."

Byakuya glanced up at him.

Kyouraku's patience was clearly wearing thin. "Can you not at least admit you brought this on yourself?"

"Why should I say it aloud when it is the general consensus?"

"Because if you cannot do that, you cannot begin to rectify the situation. Right now that woman thinks you were toying with her out of capriciousness. That could not be further from the truth, but you must face up to your rash actions if you are to explain that to her. And you must explain it to her. She may be hurt, but she'll come to understand and she may even forgive you, in time. So tell me, will you spend the next hundred years as a moving target, or will you do the honorable thing?"

"I will speak with her, when I have the right words," Byakuya said after a long pause.

"The right words?"

"I have made an error. I wish to rectify it, but this is a delicate situation. It is not merely my fate, or her fate that hangs in the balance. I am not confident that anything I do at this point will help. I will remain silent and make every effort not to provoke her. I only wish for time to determine the best course of action."

"You're procrastinating. I hardly thing that to be the best course of action." Kyouraku tilted his head. "What are you thinking?"

Byakuya's face went slightly pink. "I cannot face her now."

"Is it shame or fear?"

Byakuya closed his eyes. If he had to spill his insides to this drunken old lout, best to get it over with quickly. "Both."

* * *

"Who would have thought it? Quite the little head case, isn't Byakuya-bo?" Yoruichi stretched and curled up on the floor in Soifon's office. "Shaolin, I can hear your teeth grinding. If it bothers you so much, why do you keep missing? Just kill him like you want to."

"I am not missing on purpose," Soifon growled.

"Of course you are. You're the best assassin in Soul Society and even if your target is this strong, you wouldn't fail to dispatch him more than once. So tell me. Are you hoping to bully him back into where he was before he made that half-ass attempt to make out?" The Shihouin heir was clearly enjoying this.

Soifon sighed inwardly. She was not interested in explaining herself anymore. And why should she have to? She was the injured party here, dropped like a rag doll whose owner had inexplicably lost interest. She waited a week for an invitation that never came. Another two weeks of staring him down in captain's meetings—an act he failed to acknowledge in any way, shape or form, his eyes on Yamma-ji and nowhere else—convinced Soifon that she had been forsaken. By that point, she was beyond the howls of adolescent dejection she had anticipated. Perhaps the century she'd spent pining for her mistress had sucked that capability out of her. She had moved from shock and disappointment to sheer, unmitigated rage in half a heartbeat. And she was not alone in the sentiment.

As she sat here in her office, roughly half her underlings were silently engaged in plotting the systematic destruction of Kuchiki Byakuya. The first two phalanxes dispatched themselves, alarmed and angered that their tiny mistress had been so dishonored. The third she had sent to observe and map his movements—she wished to take him out herself—but they were overcome by the temptation and set upon him with an emotionally sloppy attack mixed with kidou and hakudou. Of course they were all cut to ribbons, which led Soifon to summarily order all of them to stand down. This was not the first time she had been disobeyed; there was still a lone wolf or two that hoped to end the business on his own, and the rest seethed with vengeful thoughts.

Soifon would have been comforted by the outpour of affection if she could forget the cause of it. She frowned. "Killing him now would disrupt the peace. Do not think me so selfish as to put my own wants over the needs of Soul Society. He is a capable and honorable captain and it would be a blow to lose him."

The blow to the back of the head was so quick that by the time she turned to look at Yoruichi-sama, she had already sat back down. "Idiot! I should have known you were still this childish. You're just salty because you finally came to care for him and he could not return the feeling. And you toying with him like this is just some passive-aggressive form of giving up with dignity. Out with it, do you still want him or not?"

It was good that Yoruichi was in her own form. The cat was expressive in voice, but her human form was far more clear with her narrowed eyebrows and indignant scowl. Soifon knew she could lie to the cat, but not to the woman.

She took a breath. "I do."

"Well then," Yoruichi grinned, "you shall have him. I'll help you."

* * *

**A/N:** A thousand and a thousand more apologies for the delay here. My head went "poof."


	11. The Suit

"Be still," Yoruichi snapped.

Soifon twitched. Seventy-two hours after she had handed her romantic issues to the Shihouin heir, she realized she may have been hasty and made a mistake.

A big one.

Yoruichi-sama had been kind; she had given Soifon additional time to cool her heels and her head, to pace her office and train in the dojo with her despondent men. She waited two days, and then summoned Soifon to the Shihouin estate, which rivaled the Kuchiki manor in its opulence. Even the servants were decadent-seeming, with rich clothing marked in front with delicately embroidered Shihouin insignias. They looked at her warily, like she was plotting to blow her nose on the drapes. Soifon pointedly ignored them and allowed herself to be led into the open parlor where Yoruichi-sama sat with a dumpy woman in an expensive-looking kimono. "This is Sato Kimiko. She will be representing you," Yoruichi said coolly.

"Representing me?" Soifon tilted her head even as she bowed at the woman, who also bowed, and deeply.

"It is my honor to come to the aid of one connected with the Shihouin," Sato said. "I will do my best to resolve the situation to your satisfaction."

"Are you a matchmaker?" Soifon asked.

Sato chuckled as she stood upright. "No, Soifon-sama. I am a mediator. Shihouin-hime has asked me to speak on your behalf before the Kuchiki-clan. You have been terribly used and you are owed significant restitution."

"Ah." Soifon looked at Yoruichi.

Yoruichi heaved an exasperated sigh. "We can't kill him. We can't kidnap and torture him. Neither of us have the right parts to rape him with, and considering Senbonzakura, I doubt we'd be able to hire a guy to do it for us. The last best way to really get revenge on a man is _financially_."

Soifon crossed her arms. "So. You tell me you're going to help me get him, and your plan is to _sue_ him? How exactly do I get him back that way?"

Yoruichi scowled. "I gave you a couple of days. Aren't you done wanting him yet?"

"No."

Yoruichi's nose wrinkled in disgust. "And there we go. The most perfect soldier, wrecked and ruined when a hint of affection is thrown her way. All the gifts and flattery have clearly affected your judgment. I thought I'd given you enough time to realize that he'd tricked you and is therefore not worth your affection. But here you are, still idolizing that little faker. Are you really that weak?"

Soifon could only gape at her. Just two days ago, the Shihouin heir had seemed adamant that reconciliation was possible and she supported Soifon's wishes. But now, Yoruichi seemed bent on revenge. Her change of heart was so completely unfathomable that Soifon was rendered speechless. Yoruichi took her silence for obeisance. A grim determination crossed her face, and as Soifon mutely settled on her knees at her side Yoruichi began to line out her case. "A handsome nobleman, for no reason besides capricious boredom, chose to while away his time by toying with the affections of a woman so innocent as to have never entertained the _thought_ of attention from the opposite sex. After stealing her precious first kiss, he drops her. With no thought to the tender feelings he cultivated in her, he abandons his suit, publicly humiliating her as well as privately shaming her. What would be the appropriate amends?"

"Traditionally, Shihouin-sama, an offer of marriage is decided by the clans of the couple involved, and there is an exchange of goods. I understand Kuchiki-sama took it upon himself to flout the authority of both his clan and that of Soifon-sama in pursuit of his own selfish desires?"

"That is correct." Yoruichi eyeballed Soifon shiftily. The jilted bride was observing her clenched fists.

"Well then," Sato said, shifting her position before resettling upon her sizable rump, "it is clear to me that we are dealing with an incorrigible rake with no respect for tradition and a lack of self-control. Does this man have a history of leading women on?"

"Well―" Soifon started.

She was interrupted by Yoruichi. "This man was an accessory in the unjust imprisonment of _his own sister._"

Sato's eyes went wide, then narrow. "A misogynist? Not surprising at all, not at all! And I take it Soifon-sama has not been the only other woman stung by his cruel nature?"

"I don't think―" Soifon stopped short at the Yoruichi's hand in her face.

"He is a widower, having done in his poor wife with his cold behavior."

"Oh my, what a monster!" Sato clasped her hands at her chest dramatically. "I suppose he visits brothels to abuse the poor souls there, as well!"

Yoruichi's eyes glittered. "I wouldn't put it past him."

At this point, Soifon rose and began to pace with a clenched jaw. This precipitated the order to be still. She could only stare at the woman she had admired for most of her life and wonder if she was this much of a mess when she idolized her. She hoped not. Her hands knotted themselves and she felt the tickle at the back of her throat that always came with nervousness. She had to end this. "Yoruichi-sama, Sato-san, perhaps this is hasty."

Both women looked at her as if she had sprouted antlers.

"It's true I was upset, but I feel it is an issue best dealt with privately. I do not care to see his dirty laundry or mine on public display for the sake of my pride." Soifon shifted her gaze from one face to the other at this last, praying for some hint of understanding.

And sadly saw none. "Oh, you poor dear." Sato tilted her head in misguided empathy. "You've been completely brainwashed, to defend him so. Don't fret one bit. I'll see to it he gets what's coming to him."

Yoruichi nodded in agreement, arms crossed. "He'll be sorry he ever tried," she said darkly.

Soifon bit her lip(and her tongue) and sat back down. _I really am that weak_, she thought.

"She is not that weak." Kuchiki Byakuya's eyes flickered from the parchment back to the patient face of Kyouraku Shunsui. The demands of the Kuchiki clan were lined upon the thin white paper in an imperious scrawl: He was summoned to appear before the clan in one week to explain his actions and be made penitent. There was, however, no mention of the would-be bride. Only her indignant clan. "If Soifon wished to deal with me, I would not be standing before you. She has been swayed by the will of that cat-demon your friend spurned, and now I am to suffer the punishment she dares not visit upon him."

"I hardly think Yoruichi would push this far with Juushirou. His clan is significantly poorer than yours. And she can't get anywhere near Juushirou at this point. He seems to be quite annoyed with her." Shunsui yawned, waving his hand. "Sit, dammit. You're making me restless."

"You speak as if my situation amuses you, to some degree." Byakuya settled delicately onto his haunches.

"It does, a little. Did you think there would be no consequences?"

Byakuya scowled at the sake that had materialized in front of him.

Shunsui sighed. "Of course you did. And yet you allowed your temporary anxiety to overwhelm your better judgment and assumed she would be too dazzled by you to notice."

"My temporary anxiety."

"Yes, your anxiety. We all know how you bullied Hisana. You'd fallen back on old habits without realizing it and pinned yourself into a corner, but without the assurance that Soifon would turn out to be as sweet. You obviously never expected to develop feelings for her. How does it feel to question yourself for the first time? Can you admit now that you chose her specifically because you believed she would refuse?" Shunsui met the cold gray stare and was not deterred in the least.

Byakuya examined his fingers. He hardly thought he could ever be so transparent, particularly not to a person who spent his life gazing up from the bottom of a bottle. But it was too late for pretending. Even if he did not ask for help, this person would certainly offer it anyway. "It was so, in the beginning."

"But?"

"She enjoys pie," Byakuya said. "She is earnest, and even as she is innocent in many ways, she is shrewd in many others. She is not at all what I anticipated."

Shunsui tilted his head. "Will you challenge and reassert your suit, then?"

"I will," Byakuya said. And then, recalling the words of the mother, "But I will address only Soifon-san. This does not involve anyone else."

Shunsui chuckled. "And you want to know how to make this happen, no doubt."

"If you would be so gracious."

The grin on Shunsui's face was wide and wicked. "Leave that to me."

* * *

**A/N:** Yet another chapter that was monstrously hard to write, which is probably why it's so short. My apologies for the delay.


	12. There Will Be Blood

Unlike any of the other three great noble families of Sereitei, the Kuchiki clan was known for its single-minded intent on displaying and emphasizing their importance and prestige. Hence the Great Hall, five minute's walk from Kuchiki Manor, where the Clan Heads gathered once a week to discuss matters that concerned the clan. However, as the clan was well-run and tended not to suffer many calamities, meetings seldom lasted more than thirty minutes and usually served more as a locale for the clan elders to gossip—Byakuya knew it was generous to call it even that—and complain about the bizarre activity of the clan head, who missed the gatherings whenever the opportunity arose. He even snickered a little bit when he airily confessed his truancy to Soifon.

So to have this location, of all other places, host his trial and presumable punishment was an irritating irony. However, he thought as he stood on the steps flanked by his seniors, he could be gratified in knowing that if things went as planned, he would not have to step a foot inside and the clan elders so intent on his correction would be headed home bootless. Now, more than ever, Byakuya was grateful that the Fon clan was so disadvantaged that they could not afford to arrange for another forum.

Ukitake-taichou shifted his stance, breathing deep. Noting the immediate glances of concern from his companions, he waved his slender white hands. "No worries," he said. "It's just been too long since I've been outside."

"Ah." This came from Shunsui, looking forward, and not so much out of relief as out of declaration. Three women, one short and dumpy, one short and wiry, and one tall and willowy were approaching.

"So they were bluffing," Shunsui said. "A pity that Soifon's clan did not come to support her."

"I doubt they even knew," Ukitake replied. "Soifon has distanced herself from them, even if she is still loyal. Yoruichi knows enough about them to make it seem like they were in an uproar, seeing as that's what it would take to get the Kuchikis' attention. Am I right, Kuchiki-taichou?"

"Mostly," Byakuya said quietly. "The clan's consent was worthless, anyway. I misled Soifon-taichou."

Ukitake raised an eyebrow. "Shrewd," he said. "But terribly dishonest."

"I'm not the one who made promises to the Shihouin princess," Byakuya replied.

Ukitake only grinned sheepishly. He would not be baited. "That's why I'm here," he said.

"We can save the small talk for later," Shunsui said, moving down from his vantage point. "Our dates are here." He flounced down the ivory pathway, sinking to a deep bow before the dumpy form of the mediator. "Sato Kimiko-sama, I presume," he purred loudly. "I've heard much of you and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He quickly plucked her right arm and kissed her hand.

Sato Kimiko went bright red and her other hand flew to her cheek. "Oh my," she warbled, "how gallant, Kyouraku Shunsui-taichou." Like his mark, the flamboyant captain needed no introduction. "Have you come to testify on behalf of Soifon-sama?"

The other women had come to a stop at her side. Yoruichi, for once in a formal and sumptuous kimono and her hair put up into a glittering gold headdress, scanned the man behind him now descending the stairs. "I think not, Sato-san."

"And good morning to you too, Yoruichi-san." Ukitake tilted his head. "It's been too long."

"It has," Yoruichi said, not moving. Soifon gazed forward at the calm visage of Ukitake Juushirou, back at the rapidly souring face of former mistress, then to the cool eyes of Kuchiki Byakuya. Two faces focused on each other, but the last was fixed on her. And she could not look away, either. Noticing he'd caught her stare, he bowed deeply, but did not move from his spot at the top of the stair. Soifon felt a tickle in her throat.

Beside her, a tempest was brewing. ". . .three weeks of laying about like an aging matron and you choose to come out now, of all times? If you know that I am here, you also must know that I'm busy with other things than pining for you." Yoruichi's hands were on her hips and her voice was low.

"You and I both know that it's a worthless activity to chase you. Why would you demand such a thing from someone who is unable to accomplish it?" Ukitake's voice was also low.

Sato-san was staring at the Shihouin heir in clear alarm; Kyouraku-taichou, who had not released her hand, pulled her aside and whispered something in her ear. Sato looked at him incredulously, mouth half-open. Kyouraku nodded at her vigorously and Sato, apparently having an epiphany, turned back to her clients. "Yoruichi-sama—"

"Not _now_, Sato," Yoruichi said, eyes not leaving the face of the white-haired man.

Sato-san gave an exasperated sigh and was about to turn to Soifon when the White Emperor stepped down from his post. "Sato Kimiko."

The woman gazed at him in wonderment. And who wouldn't? He was perfect, white and pristine, gray eyes like the still and cool stone at sea. His hakama, his hair, his lips in their preternatural frown. All of them beautiful—Soifon forced her eyes to her feet; she didn't want to look anymore. But she could not avoid his voice. "Sato Kimiko, thank you for your hard work. However, I have a request."

"Kuchiki-sama." Sato, having extracted her arm from Kyouraku, bowed as was proper.

"I realize and accept my misdeeds. However, I would like an opportunity to address Soifon-taichou alone. Can this be allowed before we enter the hall?"

Kimiko rose and tilted her head, listening. Ukitake and Yoruichi were still at it. Rather, _she_ was still at it, hurling every obscenity in the book at him as he merely listened with a slight frown and his compassionate eyes. Kimiko turned back to Soifon. "Are you willing to speak with him privately?"

Soifon wanted to shake her head. This was making it all too easy for him. Too damned easy. But no. "I will listen to him," she said, looking him full in the face.

If he was pleased with her response he did not show it. "Come," he said, gesturing back toward Kuchiki Manor. Soifon followed.

Just before they were out of earshot, Yoruichi's voice ripped over them. "_Say_ something, you miserable bastard!"

"He can't," Kyouraku's voice followed. "Cat's got his tongue!"

* * *

Neither of them spoke for the short duration of the walk. Byakuya gave her one or two sidelong glances: the green qipao was back. In the light of day it seemed just as austere, but the fabric was a far richer green than he recalled; Soifon's skin, ripened to a rich ivory, glowed beside it. Her hair glinted like just-cooled obsidian, framing her maddeningly lovely neck. He'd touched that slender neck before and had not found it in the least displeasing. His frown angled downwards. Was she wearing the qipao on purpose, just to rile him? Or was she simply so little of a female as to not possess any other feminine garb? But he could not ask her here, not before he had her in a place where she could neither run away nor kill him in a creative fashion. The only place he could think of was his garden, and he blamed the poor choice on his unsettled mind. As surreal as it seemed, she was quite alluring to him at the moment.

Just before the gate, however, that neck he was marveling about craned upwards and towards him, and the head perched at its top sported the most hideous scowl he'd ever seen on her—and he'd seen plenty of them before now. "For the walking dead," she declared, "you seem quite calm."

"Much like a pacified baby, yes," he replied. And that was somehow the way it felt: the sight of her stilled his nerves, quieted the mind that was more frantic than he'd chosen to display. Even angry as she was, he was pleased to see her.

She crossed her arms. "Are you still amused?"

"Are you implying I've been enjoying life as a walking target for you and your men? Fine. It pleased me that I upset you."

"I was not upset. I was merely defending my honor."

"Pity if your honor is so fragile as to have suffered a grave wound from such a minor thing."

Soifon's eyes widened and her hands clenched at her sides. "A minor thing."

"My mistake," Byakuya replied, pushing open the gate and stretching his arm to gesture her inside. "My miscalculation. I asked you to come so that I might explain to you."

Soifon was not moving "Explain."

"Enlighten you on the circumstances. Make you privy to every detail."

"I know what it means to _explain_. But I hardly think that is all I am owed."

Byakuya tilted his head quizzically.

She huffed. "An _apology_."

"Ah. That would be difficult. I am not sorry." he began to open his mouth to continue, but her fist connected with his nose before he could utter another word. His hand flew to the wounded area as his eyes felt like they were about to pop out. He felt the warm blood on his palm and staggered backward into the garden. Emboldened by her successful punch, she stepped in after him with her fists planted at her hips.

"I imagined you would say as much," she snarled, stalking toward him with massacre in her eyes.

Byakuya did not dare rub his nose, but instead leveled his eyes at her. He felt a little lightheaded but did not dare let himself fall. "I imagined you would hit me. I'm amazed it took you this long. Does being upset always affect your accuracy?"

The next blow was an open-palmed strike to his cheek, only the hand that was still covering his nose absorbed it. "And your judgment too. Aiming for the face with your bare hands is the least efficient way to deal a fatal blow, I'm sure you are aware. Particularly when the target area is blocked," he said through his bloody fingers. Soifon's eyes widened with fury. Had she been armed with Suzumebachi, he would have been cut to ribbons by now. But since she was not, she quickly went for his vulnerable eyes. He nearly dodged it, taking a sharp cut just above his left eyebrow. He felt the trickle of blood slide down his cheek and sighed heavily. This was already becoming tiresome. "Please be more careful. I would not see your beautiful dress marred with my blood."

At this statement, she stopped short, pulling her fists back and groaning. "Why. . . you. . ."

He gently rubbed under his nose with the back of his hand. "I am not sorry. I will never be sorry for proving to myself you cared."

She green eyes were glittering with agitation. "And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"If you wished me dead, I would be. If you did not want to see me, you would not be here. I will ask you this once, and your response can silence me forever if you wish it." He sank to his knees and bowed. "I wish offer my hand to you again. Will you take it?"

Her feet were in delicate emerald slippers and her left foot slid back slightly. "I do not understand you," she said.

"I was startled. My intent was to make a show of it and walk away when you refused me, satisfying my clan as a failed bachelor. I lied to you and I lied to myself. I never anticipated you would be receptive, and I never expected the feelings I pretended to have to become real. But now that my head is clear, my wish is to remain at your side. If you will have me." He stared at his fingers. Blood was dripping onto them and while it annoyed him (washing blood off his hands was a bothersome activity) he cared more about the answer he hoped to receive.

After a long pause, the woman responded. "I accept," she said slowly, but before he could rise and face her, she spoke again. "This does not nullify my grievance, however."

He gazed up at her. The green eyes were not hard, but they were not soft, either. "What is your wish?"

She knelt and pulled him so they were level. "I will only discuss it with the Kuchiki Clan Elders," she said coolly. "Come, your face is a mess. We'd better get those clothes washed before the stain sets."

He gaped at her, then nodded. Of course his lady, being an assassin, would know plenty about blood. As they meandered toward the manor, he looked at her. Surely it couldn't be this easy?

She did not look at him. "Your appearance must be acceptable if you're to present your offer to my parents," she said calmly. "My mother is very picky about these kinds of things."

It was only then that the loss of blood caught up to him and Kuchiki Byakuya, head of the Kuchiki Clan, fainted.

* * *

**A/N:** No, it's still not over. :)


	13. Territorial Marks

As he slid backwards and felt himself losing his footing, Abarai Renji squeezed his eyes tightly shut and thrust his zanpaktou forward, guarding against the fall of the emerald scythe. She was getting better, was Arisawa Tatsuki. The improvement had been gradual, years in the making; the times he had been complacent and let her win she had been furious with him. He had been obliged to gently heal wounds he had himself inflicted upon her just to satisfy her apparently limitless pride. But he never complained, because the sheer enjoyment of the physical activity always overshadowed any internal conflict it caused. Even now, when he was sorely in danger of being honestly beaten by a girl.

And in even more danger of being chastised by another one.

"Abarai-kun, you big weenie!" Hoshi-chan's voice always rose an octave when she was irritated with him. She hated to see him lose. So much like her father, that one. And a keen observer and analyst of battle, which she learned from her mother. She could detect missteps from an early age, which of course made her a little harder to train, but made her nearly indispensable at the tournaments that had become a seasonal tradition since the end of the War. Hitsugaya-taichou never accepted a win unless Kuchiki Hoshi validated it. It was a good thing her father's teaching of impartiality deterred the temptation of throwing every tournament in white-haired captain's favor. Hoshi's raging crush was legendary within the family and among close friends even if it was a laughable concept outside of them. Even if its object was the very desirable and overly-eligible Hitsugaya Toushirou.

"Hoshi-sama," Renji said, rising and brushing dust from his hakama, "I was lax, I know."

"Tat-chan nearly cut you." The child was beginning to pout.

"Now, Hoshi-chan, do you think I'd damage that beautiful face?" Tatsuki was grinning.

"You get wild just like he does. You'd do it without thinking and then we'd all have to listen to you fuming at him for not being faster," the girl declared.

Tatsuki's head tilted, grin becoming wider. "Little one, you model every couple you know after your parents. Not everyone can be in sync like they are."

"Well then I guess you need to mark him too, like Mother did Father."

"Mark him?"

"Hideaki nii-chan says Father has a mark on his chest. He says Father told him Mother put it there so he'd never forget his promise. And if she took it off him now, he'd die an agonizing death."

Tatsuki looked over at Renji, who shrugged and chuckled nervously. "You can't trust anything that kid says, he's so devious."

"Too much time in the hands of Shihouin Yoruichi, huh," the Eleventh Squad third seat said.

"Well, he is a future scion of the Fon clan. One you're connected to Yoruichi, you're kinda trapped, you know? And she rubs off on people." Renji scratched his head. "Though I'm not sure Kuchiki-taichou likes him spending so much time with her."

"That was part of the promise. The firstborn boy is meant for the Fon Clan, since there were no boys to take Mother's place. Mother told me Grandmother was very specific," Hoshi yawned; even that sound was imperious coming from her.

"And of course, the next born is to lead the Kuchiki Clan. Hoshi-chan, you've told us this already." Tatsuki scooped her up. "You're smaller now than Yachiru was when she took over the Eleventh. Hard to believe you'll lead your clan when you grow up."

Hoshi tilted her head, gray eyes sparking. "I'll be better than the rest put together," she sniffed.

"Even Kuchiki-taichou?" Tatsuki had no daughters in her lifetime, and children with her current paramour were unthinkable at the moment. She adored the iron will in the little girl, almost as much as she loved the tiny hands and already steely gray glare. But more than anything she adored the smile, winsome in its rarity.

"No one's better than otou-sama," the child beamed. "Except me, someday."

Tatsuki looked over at Renji, who shrugged again even as he smiled. It was the response both of them expected of the new Kuchiki princess who was as shrewd and irascible as her mother and just as haughty and beautiful as her father. "You hot little mess," Tatsuki said, giving the child a peck on the cheek and putting her down. "Come on, it's time for you to head home anyway."

Before they were even within sight, the sixth squad captain felt them coming: Three distinct reiatsus. One was hot and fierce, another one cool and determined, the last and faintest one was a buzzing sort of tingling. Hoshi, from her birth, had been wholly unfathomable to him. She reminded him most of fireworks on a cold winter night, flaring into delicate, shifting patterns. He informed her mother of this immediately, and Soifon, exhausted but somewhat alert, declared she would leave the naming to him and went promptly to sleep. And so his daughter would be a star. There was some pride in that. Even his own name had an earthly undertone. His daughter would know no such restriction.

From the beginning, Kuchiki Byakuya was intent on taking his heir in hand himself and therefore was obliged to lean on his vice-captain quite frequently in this endeavor. And where there was Abarai Renji, there was always Arisawa Tatsuki. The couple was blissfully unaware that they were the appointed godparents of both the Kuchiki children; Soifon's reward to them for the godawful haiku without which her husband may never have even sparked her interest. "Besides," she confided in her husband, "those two have both dealt with Yachiru-taichou on a regular basis. If anyone can deal with the whims of a hyperactive, powerful little girl, it's them."

Her husband had raised an eyebrow at her. "Then you might as well hand her over to Yumichika and Ikkaku." The glare she shot him was enough to silence Byakuya permanently on the subject.

Byakuya had learned to pick his battles with her and did not fight where victory was not assured. And they did fight, just rarely enough that the ones they had were bitterly explosive. In fact, he could count the number on his body—and hers. The brown nick on her neck was a love bite from some extremely rough makeup sex. That, of course, had been prior to the children. They had enjoyed a languorous extended honeymoon where they settled into each others' domestic habits with considerable friction. She took issue with his unwillingness to change his routine of sparring with Renji before leaving the sixth division compound. She had wanted in on the action; he was wary of the risk of adding another homonka onto any other part of his body. Not that he had not received compliments about the one on his chest. Renji was quite impressed by it but had been sworn to secrecy. In the end his wife crashed a session and joined up with his vice captain; he came home with a tiny butterfly mark between his shoulder blades.

He had taken issue with spending a large amount of their social life double dating with the still-unmarried Ukitake Juushirou and Shihouin Yoruichi. Both were pleasant and intelligent, to be sure, but they seemed unable to keep their hands off each other. Even in public. It wasn't until the two emerged from a closet in the Kuchiki mansion with marks on their necks that Soifon reconsidered inviting them over so often. It was no fluke that there were no children in the house until long after Ukitake's retirement withdrawal to Karakura with his lover. It was after that, when Soifon had adjusted to life in the Kuchiki household and Byakuya finally won over her mother that they spent quiet time in the garden by the pond, smiled gently at each other across the table, and taste-tested new and interesting flavors of pie. It had been a long road, to be sure. And hard won. But thoroughly worth it.

The sensation of a bee in his ear turned him from his work. "You're home early," he said to his wife.

"In case you've forgotten, there hasn't been much work for me lately. Nothing major, anyway." Soifon stretched. "Your son is up to something and told me he would take over maneuvers for the second tonight."

Byakuya tilted his head, just a little. "He won't be home until late, then?"

"He will not."

"Abarai and Arisawa have Hoshi. Perhaps I should suggest to them they should take her to the Thirteenth to stay with her aunt?"

"A sleepover. Hm. She would like that." Green eyes narrowed a little. "And what shall we do with an empty house?"

"We can do a little practice," Byakuya suggested, standing and stepping around his desk. "Or maybe we can have some pie. . .or you can put on that green qipao and I can read you some haiku."

Her smile was wicked. "Bad haiku?"

He leaned forward until his lips were to her ear. "Even worse than Abarai's."

Soifon's hands rested at his hips. "You always do have a plan."

"Of course," he said, edging in for the kill until he felt a prick at his neck. He looked down at her.

"I say we spar first," she said. "It's been too long." Suzumebachi was digging a tiny hole in his skin.

Senbonzakura thrummed at his side. He glowered down at his wife. "Tyrant."

She glared back with an arched eyebrow, lips twisting into a smirk. She knew all too well that he was more than happy to be her subject. After all, she could still kill him with a few more hits.

* * *

**A/N:** Ah, and so it ends, what, two years later? Thanks for reading :)


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